


among the roses red

by lilithqueen



Series: up the airy mountain [2]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, but with magic, if you guess what fairytale this is based on you get a cookie, modern-ish AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern-ish AU. Reynir is a desperately bored student whose desire for adventure and exploration leads him to a far corner of his family's farm, where he finds a handsome and inhuman man who's been trapped there for a long time. Naturally, he decides to save him - no matter how dangerous it might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	among the roses red

Reynir was starting to hate the farm.

Realistically, he knew it wasn’t fair of him. It wasn’t like his family farm was a _bad_ one, after all. They raised sheep for wool and made enough money to send him and his siblings to university. Even if he never found a job after he graduated, he knew he could always find work on the farm; they’d never turn their backs on him. But…

But it was _boring_. What did he do, after all? He went to school, came home on the train every day, and worked on the farm in what spare time he had. His last attempt at a social life had been a coffee date with Emil Västerström from his Norse Mythology class; he’d been pretty nice, but it had been glaringly obvious that they’d had nothing in common. That had been three weeks ago, and rumor had it that Emil had found himself a boyfriend since then. Reynir was pretty sure he was doomed to be alone forever, but he thought he could handle that. The stagnation, though? That would drive him insane. He wanted—no, _needed_ —to do something new.

He glanced out his window. The acres of farmland unrolled before him like a green carpet, but there was one area in the far corner of their land where he’d never been—a treacherous deadfall of fallen branches and twisted trees that had boxed in a ruined tower. He’d always been told to stay away from it; his father had always meant to tear it all down, but somehow they’d never gotten around to it.

He shut his laptop and got to his feet, scrambling down the ladder from his loft bed and bolting out the front door.

“Reynir—”

“I’m just going for a walk, Mom!”

If she didn’t get a chance to ask him where he was going, he wouldn’t have to lie, right? Right. That was an excellent plan. His sense of direction wasn’t the best, but the fields were level enough that he could see the remains of the tower wherever he went. Without hesitation, he made his way towards it.

By the time he reached it, the wind was picking up. He huffed and shivered, hugging his arms to his chest; it didn’t help much, but it was something. _I should have brought a coat. Why did I think a sweater would be enough? Maybe I should head back…_

But he didn’t. The trees were only a few yards away, and now that he was closer he could see something he hadn’t noticed before. What seemed like an impenetrable thicket of thorns and twigs from a distance had a rough tunnel leading into it; it might have been made for someone shorter than he was, but if he ducked his head and wrapped his braid around his shoulders he could probably squeeze in without losing any hair. Beyond it, he could see moss-covered stones and…something bright.

Roses, he thought, but surely it was the wrong season; you didn’t get roses in fall. This was _weird_. For a moment, he thought of turning back.

And then he squared his shoulders and walked into the brush. It was dark under the branches; they coiled into a dense canopy above him that only let thin shafts of sunlight in to illuminate his path. He went as slowly as he could, trying not to trip on the roots in his way. As he passed, he realized that the branches looked almost woven together, as though someone had built it—which was ridiculous, because nobody had ever been here in decades. It was too dangerous, and with his luck it was probably haunted too.

If it _was_ haunted, it was by a very polite ghost, at least. When he got out of the tunnel and could finally straighten up again—his neck really _hurt_ —the scene before his eyes wasn’t scary at all. There was the tumbledown tower, one of its massive square blocks buried in the grass by his feet. There were the trees, conifers twisted by the wind into weird shapes.

And there were the flowers. He’d been right; there were roses blooming here, scraggly vines rambling over the trees and the tower, their fat red blossoms spilling over everything and perfuming the air. Oh, his parents were never going to believe _this_. Carefully, he reached up and snapped one off its branch.

Movement in the corner of his eye was the only warning he got before something slammed into him, pinning him back against a tree. His vision blurred; when it cleared, he stared in shock at the man that had him pinned.

He was shorter and broader than Reynir, solid with muscle, with strong cheekbones and close-cropped silvery hair; the burning blue eyes boring into his own locked him in place even more effectively than the fist wrapped around a handful of his sweater. His clothes were odd, a wool tunic and fur boots like something out of a museum, but that was a secondary concern to the large knife strapped to his belt. Reynir swallowed hard.

The man growled, “What are you doing here?”

“I was just—um—” The rose fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

His eyes narrowed. “Well?”

Reynir took a breath. Air would be good; as it filled his lungs, he felt some courage return to him. “Hey, shouldn’t I be asking you that? This is my family’s land!”

The man pressed him harder against the tree, close enough that he could feel the warmth his body threw off. “But it’s _my_ tower.”

“ _Your_ —” Caught off guard, he blurted the first thought that came to mind. “How did you get roses blooming in the middle of autumn? Is it magic?”

Blinking, the man’s grip relaxed; Reynir knew he could wriggle free, but somehow he didn’t really want to. The man was turning faintly pink around the ears, and not quite looking at him. “Uh. Well. Yes. I am charged with the care of these roses; what have you to say for yourself now that you’ve blundered in and stolen one?”

For a moment, Reynir considered the situation. Clearly, either he was hallucinating (unlikely) or there was something magical going on. Either way, he was alone with a very strong, very handsome man who didn’t seem likely to hurt him judging by how flustered a simple question had made him. “How about an introduction? I’m Reynir Árnason.”

The man stared at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, letting go of his sweater entirely. “I’m…they call me Onni. And—that’s still not an answer! I expect repayment for my lost rose.”

Reynir leaned towards him, watching the way his eyes widened; this close, they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Can I pay you in kisses?”

Onni made a stunned noise, and for a moment Reynir was afraid he’d misjudged—but then he closed the distance between them, kissing him as though he’d die if he stopped. Reynir melted into it with a sigh, wrapping his arms around him, and wasn’t surprised when Onni’s hands wound up buried in his hair. One kiss, he’d thought—but Onni was clearly an incredible kisser, so there was no harm in two or three.

When he pulled away, eyes heated even with that strange blue glow in them, Reynir’s heart was racing. He suddenly wanted to do something, anything, to make sure that Onni didn’t yet consider himself repaid. “If I.” He licked his lips. “If I offered you a lot more, as insurance against any other flowers I might take…”

Onni kissed him again, pinning him flat against the tree with a knee nudging his thighs apart, and this time the hands left his hair to slide down over his back. He was delighted to not only hear but feel the low, steady rumble in Onni’s chest, and when those hands reached his ass and _squeezed_ he made an almost embarrassingly loud noise and shuddered in his arms. Somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to cradle the back of Onni’s skull as they kissed, sinking his fingers into his soft hair.

When Onni’s mouth left his, he couldn’t stop a disappointed noise—but then he was mouthing down over his throat, and Reynir gasped and arched, digging his fingers into the nape of Onni’s neck. “God—more of that, please don’t stop…”

Onni clearly didn’t plan on stopping; each nibble over such sensitive skin was making Reynir buck against him, and he could feel how hard they were both getting. It was dizzying; when a sharp roll of his hips made Onni growl against his skin, the only coherent thought in his mind was _more_.

He seemed to get the hint. One hand left his ass to fumble between them, going for Reynir’s belt buckle; that was an _excellent_ idea and Reynir would be sure to thank him just as soon as he had some actual brainpower to do it with. That time would clearly not be now, because his pants were open and Onni’s hand on his cock was almost perfect.

 _Almost_. He drew in a shaky breath. “Ah, wait—you too, move your hand a little—”

There, that was better; as Onni shifted, he could work his hand between them and return the favor, freeing his erection and wrapping their hands around both their cocks at once. The friction was delicious; his hands were callused and a little rough, but Reynir didn’t mind, not when he was rolling his hips like that and panting into his throat. More and faster, it felt so good and he knew he could come just like this, just from the way they were moving together—and then teeth sank into his exposed collarbone, a sharp point of pressure that was almost pain.

It was all too much; he came with a half-strangled scream muffled in Onni’s shoulder, and if Onni hadn’t slid his other hand down his thigh he might have buckled. After a few shaky thrusts, Onni followed him with a groan.

And then they stood together, breathing roughly. Onni buried his head in his chest, shivering almost as much as Reynir was. The warm, solid weight of him was a firm reminder that this was real, that this had just happened. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “…Incredible.”

Reynir thought he remembered how to talk. “Yeah. That was…wow.” A distant voice called his name, and he felt his blood turn to ice. “Shit!”

Onni went perfectly still. “Is something wrong?”

His face heated up as he wriggled away, shaking his head. “I—I should go, I’m sorry—god, I can’t walk out looking like this—”

Onni stepped back and swept his cloak off his shoulders. His face closed itself off; Reynir couldn’t read his expression at all. “Here.”

“But it’s yours…” He trailed off. There really was no other choice; he cleaned himself off as quickly and thoroughly as he could, taking a moment to set his clothes to rights. “I’m sorry, but I really, really have to go, that’s my family—I had a _great_ time, thank you.”

Onni flushed. “Uh. You’re welcome.”

His brother called his name again, sounding desperate. He felt himself turning as red as his hair, but he nodded.

And then he turned and ran.

He didn’t go back the next day, or the next. He thought he should, but—well. It was probably for the best; lightning didn’t strike twice, and why should a clearly magical entity take any interest in him? He was just Reynir, and he had a perfectly normal and boring life. It was disgustingly easy to sink back into his normal routine of school and homework and the farm, and he didn’t miss Onni very much at all. He certainly wasn’t daydreaming about the softness of his lips, or the way his rough hands had felt so good when he’d touched him, or the way he’d looked when he’d walked away.

Really. Honest.

One day, Emil poked him in the back with a pencil as they sat down for their lecture. “Hey. Are you okay? You’ve been looking weird.”

He flushed. “Um. No, no, I’m fine.”

“…Hmm.” Emil sounded unconvinced, but then the lecture started and luckily they needed to pay attention and there was no time to talk.

When he got home that day, he decided there was no putting it off any longer. He put his computer and his bag in his room, wrapped himself up warmly, and strode off for the ruins. This time, he knew what to expect, and the way was much easier. The tunnel seemed neater, too; it was taller, and the tree roots had been covered with an even layer of packed dirt. Without hesitation, he snapped off the nearest rose as soon as he burst through into the enclosure. Maybe it would call him again.

Onni’s voice sounded behind him, dull and matter-of-fact, before the man himself walked out of what had been a patch of thin air moments before. “I thought you weren’t going to come back.”

His mouth moved faster than his brain. “Well, if you left your weird tower, you could have come to see me instead.”

Onni went red. “Believe me, I would love to, but I _can’t_.”

“You would…” Reynir sucked in a painful breath past the sudden lump in his throat. “Look, I—what’s keeping you here? You said you’re charged with the care of these roses—what does that mean? Can you leave? Or are you—I don’t know, stuck here?”

He glanced away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I am. I am bound to the service of the spirits of this land until such time as someone breaks my curse.”

“Do they have to kill a dragon? Because I can’t do that.”

Onni jolted, staring incredulously at him. “You—you _want_ to break my curse? But I—after how we met—and you don’t even _know_ me…”

Reynir dredged up a smile that he hoped was reassuring. “I’d like to get to know you. So. How do I break the curse?”

Onni swallowed hard. Even in the late afternoon light, Reynir saw him blush. “Uh. Well. Tonight—tonight is the new moon, the only chance you’ll have until next month. Be here, bring a heavy sheet or—something, and summon me. I won’t be in my usual shape, but…if you hang onto me, no matter what, until I’m back to human form, the curse will be broken. But it will be very dangerous for you! There’s no telling what forms I might take before then, I could seriously hurt you—”

“ _Onni_.” The man flinched as Reynir took his hand, holding very still as their eyes met. “I want this. I want to help you. I’ll be back tonight.”

Onni pressed a hand to his waist and kissed him, brief and hard, before letting him go. “Alright.”

He smiled and laughed throughout dinner, acting as engaged as he could in his siblings’ conversations. All the while, he thought hard. Onni was depending on him; he had to be prepared. A sheet, he’d said, probably to wrap him up in. Reynir added a flashlight and a first-aid kit to the list as well, and made sure he had his phone in his pocket in case it all went wrong and he needed real help. When the sun had gone down and his family was asleep, he crept down the ladder from his loft and very carefully tiptoed to the door.

By some miracle, he made it out of the house without disturbing any of the dogs. By a further miracle, he made it to the tower without breaking an ankle or his neck in the pitch darkness. The stars were not nearly bright enough to light his way without the moon shining as well, and so he very carefully set his flashlight down in the direction Onni usually came from before breaking off a rosebud.

The biggest owl he’d ever seen dive-bombed his face. With a yelp of pure terror, he swept the sheet over it and flung his arms around its body as the weight brought it to earth. _Hold on he said to hold on—_

Whatever he was holding in the sheet, it wasn’t an owl anymore. He clung desperately as the lump under the blanket shifted and grew, wings turning to massive paws and beak becoming a huge head. Now he grappled with a lion, and he was too scared even to scream but it didn’t seem to want to rip him to pieces so much as get away, so if he could just keep a grip on it…

And then it was a serpent, and now it was attacking him; heart pounding, he grabbed it by the base of the skull in an effort to keep it away from his face. It was lashing him with its whole body and it _hurt_ but that was good, they were still touching. He could handle this.

It was getting warmer. Wait. Why was it—oh god it was fire, he was holding living flame and it was starting to eat through the blanket and the heat was _intense_ , he could not handle this at _all_ , he wondered if it were possible to die of terror but he didn’t dare let go, not when there couldn’t be anything worse than this and he was bound to break the curse soon enough—

The fire died, leaving him trembling with cold but—he hoped—unburnt. Onni was warm and naked and alive in his arms, breathing raggedly. Around them, the roses crumbled to dust.

Reynir wasn’t sure of how long they laid there, feeling each other’s pounding heartbeats. Finally, he managed words. “Are…you okay?”

The flashlight had miraculously not been knocked over in the struggle, and it illuminated clear gray eyes that went soft in wonder as they gazed into Reynir’s. “…I am. I may never be—never be fully human again, but I am human enough now. You have saved me.”

Every muscle in his body protested, but he managed to clamber to his feet and offer Onni a hand. “Come on. I’ll take you home with me.”

He stared at his offered hand. “What?”

Reynir felt his face heat. “Uh. You don’t have to, but—you don’t have anywhere else to go, do you? You can sleep in one of the barns tonight and I can find you some clothes, I bet my brother’s about your size. And…uh. Well. If we’re going to be, you know, together, then you should meet my family anyway, we can think up a cover story on the way back…”

Onni took his hand, and didn’t let go until they reached the barn. With the way his every shy smile set his heart doing backflips, Reynir was sure he’d made a good choice. They could always figure out the details later.


End file.
